


"Of All the Gin Joints..."

by CMJavaGirl



Series: Jason & Elizabeth One-shots [4]
Category: General Hospital
Genre: Alternate History, Angst, F/M, One Shot, Romance, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 00:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15522468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMJavaGirl/pseuds/CMJavaGirl
Summary: It's ten years after Jason and Elizabeth left each other at the court house that fateful November of 2008.They agreed to have no further contact and went their separate ways.  But then Elizabeth's life takes anotherturn.





	"Of All the Gin Joints..."

**Author's Note:**  This Fic takes place after Jason Morgan and Elizabeth Webber part company permanently at the courthouse in December 2008.  It is an alternate history from that point forward.  Elizabeth did not pursue a relationship with Lucky Spencer or Nikolas Cassadine.  Jason did not go back to Sam McCall.     
  


 

  
  
  


**August 14, 2018, Tuesday  
Paris, France – Four Seasons Hotel George V**

  
Ringing the bell she waited impatiently for the Concierge to answer her summons.  She hesitated to ask but she just had a need to go someplace that was ‘American’ in feeling, in smell, and a bar would be just the ticket – especially today.  
  
_But in Paris?  Renowned for being American-phobic?  What would be the odds?  
  
Still, I had to ask.  It didn’t hurt to ask. _  
  
“Oui, Madame, comment est-ce que je peux vous aider?” The Concierge asked smoothly.  Registering the woman’s blank look he repeated in English, “How can I assist you?”   
  
“Ah, yes,” she smiled shyly, “how fortunate for me that you speak English.”   
  
The man looked at her archly and then relaxed as he saw the petite woman’s nervousness.  He smiled gently, “How can I help you, Madame?”   
  
“Uhhmm, I was wondering,” she clenched her small fists on the top of the polished mahogany table top.  “I wanted to know if there was anywhere in the city, if there is a bar, an American bar.  You know, like where you can just sit, have a drink, maybe play pool, that kind of thing.”   
  
The urbane man smirked, “What would a lovely woman such as yourself want with such a place?”   
  
She blushed and gave a small shrug, “Let’s say I’m a bit homesick.”   
  
“And how would your  _mari_ ,” he quickly translated, “your husband feel about you being in such a place?”   
  
Blushing, she covered the ring she still wore, “I have no husband, now.”   
  
The Concierge nodded sympathetically, “Ah, oui, je comprends, Madame.” His eyes took on a soft glint.  “I have the perfect place.  In fact, it’s on a special night time tour of ‘American’ hot-spots, as you say ...”   
  
“Really?”   
  
“Oui, there’s ‘ _Harry’s_ ’,” he handed her a small card, “and a newer place called ‘ _Jake’s_ ’.  It is, as you say, a regular bar.  It has a pool table and the juke box.  But you should know that it has a reputation for attracting a bit of a rougher crowd.”   
  
She kept staring at the card,  _‘Jake’s’ – here I am looking for an American hang out and he gives me a card to a place called, ‘Jake’s’ – what are the odds?_   The concierge was caught off guard when she let out a small giggle.  
  
“Sounds perfect.”   
  
After getting directions and hiring one of the hotel’s taxis she went to her room to get ready.  Checking in with her brother for an update on the kids let her go out with a clear head.  Since it was almost six o’clock and eleven at home the kids would long be sleeping.   
  
This was her first trip by herself since going to Napa to have her first son.  And the past fourteen years hadn’t always been easy.  Her seven year marriage to Derrick Barnet not only gave her a beautiful daughter, five-year-old Emily, and a good father for her two boys, but numerous perks as the wife of GH’s Chief of Oncology.  The three-month-old divorce while friendly and relatively painless still meant upheaval for the kids.  And for her.  
  
She started dressing.   _I need this time away.  It’s good to get away now.  August is always difficult.  Too many memories. August makes me feel so depressed._    
  
_I used to feel this way about April. What was that poem Em liked so much? She could hear her best friend’s voice, ‘April is the cruelest month ... something about lilacs from dead land ... mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with rain ...’ something like that ..._     
  
She shook her head thinking about it.   _April had indeed been cruel more than once.  ‘Memory and desire, stirring dull roots ...’_   She blinked back stinging tears.   _Why didn’t I just go with him that first time he asked me?  We should have come together when his nephew, his first son really, was shot.  Why didn’t we just forge ahead and get married?  We both wanted it.  He loved me so much.  We loved each other._  
  
She tried hard to replace those memories with happier ones.  Easter with her boys.  Outrageous family vacations during spring breaks from school.  So many things.  But those memories often crept in.  She snorted to herself,  _April was, indeed, cruel._   She let herself feel anger for the first time in a long time.    
  
_Hmmphh, April!  August was the cruelest.  I hate August!  I wish I could get rid of these ‘if only’ thoughts.  If only I’d known that day in that little dive bar that I’d met the man who would change my life forever.  If only, I’d taken the chance life offered, again, to be with him after that wonderful night we made our son.  If only, I believed he could keep us safe from those men in the park.  If only, I’d made him stay and never asked him to give up his child.  If only I’d let Lucky fend for himself.  If only, I’d been braver.  If only._   She pounded through the lobby.  
  
_If only I listened to myself and not everyone else._  
  
Setting her smile in place as she approached the opulent mahogany and glass doors of the George Cinq the doorman readily held the door open for her and escorted her to the waiting taxi.  Tipping him generously the doorman instructed the driver of her destination.  
  
“American,” the older man said in heavily accented English, “oui?”   
  
She gave a small smile, “Oui, yes, American.”   
  
“Ah, pauvre petite, you have the sick for home, oui?” he asked sympathetically.  
  
She just nodded.  
  
“And so I take you to the  _Jake’s_  and it is like home, oui?”   
  
She nodded at the friendly older Frenchman.   _Home.  Such a small word, so much meaning.  
  
How was it possible that in nineteen years ... more, I haven’t felt at home in anyplace I’ve called home?  Not since I lived in the studio.  How is it that there’s no one that makes me feel like I’m home?  Well, there was one, but I haven’t seen him in ... oh ... more than ten years.  Not really seen him.  Oh, the first two years I told him to stay away I saw him here and there around town.    
  
Then one day he just wasn’t around anymore.  He wasn’t dead.  I would’ve heard.    
  
Nope, he just disappeared.  Poof!  Gone! _  
  
It wasn’t long before the compact taxi pulled in front of the building marked ‘ _Jake’s_ ’ – it stood at the end of a small street in the heart of the Parisian commercial district and from the outside it looked unremarkable.  
  
As she alighted from the taxi, her driver wished her a good time and asked for the time she desired his return.  
  
Answering him she turned back to gaze at the building with the drab little overhead light up sign proclaiming it’s name.  Noticing the entrance on the side she walked around and was startled by the sight before her.  
  
_This is impossible!_  
  
The exterior was an exact replica of the exterior of the  _Jake’s_  back home.  Opening the heavy steel door with a whoosh she got a further shock as the wave of stale beer hit her.  The tiny entry was just like the  _Jake’s_  at home and as she proceeded into the bar she nearly broke out into tears.  
  
_How can this be?  Who would duplicate a dive bar like Jake’s just for the fun of it?_  
  
She shook her head and looked around again.   _No, not dreaming. Pool table in the back, same type of scoreboard, same three booths to the left._  
  
She looked around some more.   _Same kind of tables and captain chairs, same bar stools._   She walked over to the juke box on the right where it always was.  Looking at the music listed, she smiled.   _The nineties.  Good stuff then._  
  
She finally noticed that she was being watched.  Gathered at the tables by the juke were a few tourists obviously looking for a taste of home.  Turning she looked into the faces of men who worked the docks, the men who drove the trucks, and probably what passed for the local hoodlum population.  They were all openly watching her.  Giving them all a small smile she made her way to the bar.  
  
“Tequila.”   
  
The young bartender gave her a nod placing a shot glass in front of her along with a salt shaker and a bowl of limes.  
  
She slammed her shot glass down, “Again.” As he poured she shrugged out of her lightweight cream colored blazer.  She still had that same girlish figure she’d always had even under the more sophisticated cream trousers and burgundy silk tank.  
  
After two more shots she looked around the bar again.  “This place is just like a bar at home,” she chuckled.  
  
“You know the original  _Jake’s_ ,” the young bartender asked with an excited surprise in his tone, “the one in New York, Madame?”   
  
The woman smiled at the beguiling young man, “I guess I do,” she nodded.  “How long has this been here, this  _Jake’s_?”   
  
“Ah, Madame, this Jake’s will celebrate the anniversary of six years,” he said happily with a charming French accent.  
  
She looked around again, “I can’t believe someone built this here,” she shook her head with a throaty laugh.  “Just what we needed, two  _Jake’s_ ,” she giggled.  
  
“Ah, non, Madame, non,” the young bartender interrupted her, “there are many,  _Jake’s_.” He noted her surprise, “Oui, à Â  Bruxelles ... pardonez-moi, in Brussels, Marseille, Zurich, Frankfurt, Prague, Barcelona, Copenhagen, and also Athens, Sà Â£o Paulo, Buenos Aires, and a new one soon in Marrakesh.”   
  
Her brows shot up in surprise, “So many,” she breathed out in shock, “who owns this place?”   
  
The young man shrugged, “Some rich American, un excentrique.  I never see him.”   
  
Her brows furrowed, “You don’t see him?”   
  
“Non, Madame,” the young man shook his head, “he is a recluse.  No one sees him.”   
  
  


**Marrakesh, Morocco  
5:50 PM**

  
“Jason!” The familiar whine of her voice cut through his calm silence.  “Jason!” She stamped her foot coming out onto the stone terrace of his villa.  
  
He let out a deep sigh, “Maxie, what is it?”   
  
“We only have, like, thirteen days and the chairs aren’t here yet ...”   
  
He smiled at her, “And the chairs will be here, on time, like always,” he chuckled as he rose from his chair at the outdoor table.  “Sit,” he gently clasped his hand under her elbow, “you haven’t been getting enough rest.”   
  
“Uncle Jaysin, Uncle Jaysin!” The little blond dervish streaked onto the terrace dragging a string of cars behind him.  “You play wif me?”   
  
“Jay-Jay, no, no, Uncle Jason is biz ...”   
  
“Hey, Jay-Jay,” the tall blond stooped down to his four-year-old namesake, “look at all these new cars,” Jason picked up a few and looked at them with genuine interest.  “These are really great!”   
  
“Look at t’bwack one, Uncle Jaysin, iss like you car, look!”   
  
“He saw it on the internet and called it ‘Uncle Jason’s’ car,” Spinelli piped up as he took the chair next to his wife.  
  
 The young parents watched their older friend playing cars with their son on the stone terrace.  Spinelli leaned over to talk quietly with his wife of five years.  Nodding towards his mentor, he whispered, “How is he today?”   
  
Maxie leaned back into him, and whispered, “He seems okay.  Kind of lost in his own thoughts,” she dropped her voice lower, “you know how he gets at this time.”   
  
Spinelli nodded and taking Maxie’s hand resumed talking in a normal voice, “I understand we’re having some excitement?”   
  
Maxie huffed, “The usual August and April jitters.  You know I never think we’re going to be ready on time.” She stroked her belly, “And being six months pregnant isn’t helping,” she sighed, “I think I’m on hormone overload.”   
  
Jason kept playing cars with his namesake.  “Maxie,” their older friend reassured her, “it’s going to be fine.  The guys are on everything you need to open and it’s going to be all right.”   
  
She shook her blond head, “It always amazes me how relaxed you can be ...”   
  
  


**August 16, 2018, Thursday – 1:20 PM CEST  
TGV Train: Frankfurt, Germany to Brussels, Belgium**

  
As she settled into her comfortable first-class recliner she had the next three hours to catch her breath.   _I was supposed to be touring the Louvre.  Instead I’m visiting all the ‘Jake’s’ I’ve just found out about.  She snorted to herself, what are you thinking?_  
  
The  _Jake’s_  in Zurich and the one she just left in Frankfurt were carbon copies of each other, the one in Paris and the one at home.  She noticed her newly naked ring finger as she looked down at the list of ‘ _Jake’s_ ’ in her travel folder with a bit of wonder.  They really were all over the place with more scheduled to open in the next few years.  _But none in Italy.  Strange._  
  
Visiting the last three  _Jake’s_  brought back a lifetime of memories.  Sneaking in with Em as teens to see the local bands.  They only got in because Em’s brother gave the ‘okay’ to the owner.  She smiled as she thought about Jason.  So many of her memories were tied up with him at  _Jake’s_  – from that very first time she went there to drown her sorrows over losing Lucky.    
  
_“I tried that once,” he said it so softly.  That voice seemed odd coming from someone who’d just put a frontal choke hold on the man who was annoying me.  
  
I wasn’t sure what he meant, “Tried what?”   
  
“I tried to fix what hurt by finding something that hurt worse,” he explained.  “Now, you're not going to believe me, but it doesn't work.”   
     
I was such a brat, “How would you know?” I attacked him with a ramble of my loss, “You never had one good thing in your life and you lost it. You never had someone come along who made you understand what the point was ... then proved it by ... leaving you with nothing,” my voice was quivering with tears.  “Do you know what nothing feels like?”   
  
Then he told me that it was where he lived.   
  
Almost twenty years ago.  He became such a good friend, my best friend, my more-than-friend.  He let me mourn Lucky, cry about him, get angry about him.  He let me pretend with him.  He helped make me whole again.  
  
And, yeah, I returned the favor.  I picked him out of the snow and nursed him back to health.  By that time we were friends.  
  
I wanted it to be more, but he wanted me safe.    
  
And then Lucky came back.  She mentally shook her head.  I traded what I wanted to keep Lucky whole, to make Lucky happy, to convince Lucky that he had worth after what Helena did to him.    
  
She snorted at herself, funny, I loved Jason, wanted Jason, but pushed him away time and time again.  
  
But who would have known that first meeting at Jake’s when I bewailed not having Lucky’s baby that it was Jason’s baby I would have seven years later.  And who would’ve known that it was me that was going to send him back to the nothing._  
  
Walking into the Brussels  _Jake’s_  she literally had to choke back tears this time.   _This could only be Jason.  Jake’s was his first home.  The place he called home when he had none or when he couldn’t go to his penthouse anymore.  It was his refuge._  
  
As she’d done in the past three  _Jake’s_  she took a seat at the bar.  This time the bartender was an older man, instead of the younger she’d come to expect.  
  
“Tequila.”   
  
“Bien sûr, Madame.” The bartender tried not to notice the blue eyes swimming with tears.  But after she downed her first shot and ordered another he couldn’t.  
  
“Vous avez la tristesse, Madame?” Seeing her confusion, he translated, “You are sad.  Pourquoi?  Why?” He asked gently, “A beautiful woman should not be sad,” he said with a smile, “I am certain your man would not want you sad.”   
  
She choked hearing those words.   _If I didn’t know better I’d think he was Jason._   She shook her head, “I’m all right.  I was thinking about an old friend,” she dashed away her tears, “we used to come to a bar just like this at home.”   
  
“Ah, in America?”   
  
She nodded.  
  
“Do you want to know the story of this place?” He asked genially as he leaned on the bar.  “It’s a very romantic story in its way.”   
  
She nodded again, “Tell me.”   
  
“First, you should know, this is not the only  _Jake’s_  ... they are all over Europe and in South America.” He poured her a cooling drink of cassis and lemon. “A more fitting drink for the story of the  _Jake’s_ ,” he gave her a wink.    
  
“Now,” the Belgian started softly, “you must understand that this story is but a rumor as no one knows the real story.” He looked into her deep blue eyes, “Ach, that’s not true.  There is one that knows the truth and maybe another.” She nodded for him to continue.    
  
Warming up to his subject he continued, “It is said that there was once a young man of nefarious means who kept his place in one of the upstairs rooms at the original  _Jake’s_  and that it was there he met the girl of his dreams.”   
  
He took a sip of his wine and then continued, “It is said that the girl was young, beautiful, but an innocent and unaccustomed to the man’s dark and dangerous life.  And so their love was not to be.” He heard the woman give a soft gasp.    
  
“It is rumored,” he took another sip, “that the girl found love again with her first love.  It is said that the girl after many years and trials lost her first love again, et mais non,” he shrugged, “the man who builds the  _Jake’s_  was not a suitable partner for her.  But he loved her still.”   
  
He took a bigger sip of his wine, “And so in tribute to the love of his life that he met at that first  _Jake’s_  he recreates them all around the world.” he finished with a nod, “perhaps he’s waiting for her to find him again,” he shrugged, “who knows, but it’s a touching story, no?”   
  
  


**August 24, 2018, Friday – 3:55 PM CEST  
Iberia Flight No. 8565: Marseille, France to Barcelona, Spain**

  
Her non-stop flight was only an hour. Her mind was reeling from all that she’d seen. The same Jake’s again and again, in Copenhagen, in Prague, one of the newest ones, in Athens and in Marseille, a port city just like home.     
  
She had asked quietly in Athens for him.  She’d mentioned him in Prague.  But, in Marseille she bit the bullet.  She could still giggle at the confused expression of the poor bartender.  
  
_“Where is Jason Morgan,” she demanded with a nervous edge.  
  
“Qui?  
  
“Jason Morgan.” She quirked a brow at the startled man, “Do you speak English?”   
  
“Ah, oui, Madam.”   
  
“Jason Morgan, the owner.  Where is he?”   
  
The confused man shook his head, “I do not know the owner.  There is no owner here.  You wish to make complaint?”   
  
“No, no,” she shook her head starting to leave.  Turning back, “I wish to make a complaint.  Who do I talk to?”   
  
The young man gave her a card that told her nothing except that she could call ‘827 Enterprises’ at a local number.  
  
“Who should I talk to?”   
  
The young man shrugged, “You could speak to Monsieur Damian or his wife.” _  
  
  


**Marrakesh, Morocco  
4:50 PM**

  
He stole up behind his wife dropping a kiss on the back of her neck as he ran his hand lovingly over her swelling belly.  
  
“We need to talk,” he whispered.  
  
She turned excitedly into his arms, “About?”   
  
He ticked his head toward the table, “Where’s Jason?”   
  
Maxie turned to look through the terrace doors at the clock inside, “It’s almost five.  He’s meeting Father Butasa about setting up that school.”   
  
“Good,” he nodded, “look,” turning the laptop to face her, “there are three messages today, one from Athens and I just got one from Marseille, and one from Prague about a ‘highly inquisitive patron’ on Saturday.”   
  
“Who?”   
  
“I queued up the vid feeds from the last few days,” he said hitting a few keys.  In mere moments his screen took on a checkerboard pattern with several of the Jake’s interiors emblazoned on the screen.  
  
“Omigod, she’s there ... she found them,” Maxie gave a delighted squeal and whipped around, “What now?”   
  
Spinelli hunkered over his keyboard for a few moments and turned it to Maxie, “She’s on her way to Barcelona.”   
  
Maxie tapped her lip in thought, “If Enrique sent her to BA,” she asked archly, “could you get Jason there?”   
  
“I could,” Spinelli’s eyes twinkled, “you want to set them up?”   
  
Maxie chuckled, “Think,  _‘Casablanca ...’_  ”   
  
  


**August 25, 2018, Saturday – 1:15 AM CEST  
Iberia Flight No. 6843: Barcelona, Spain to Buenos Aires, Argentina**

  
Four hours into her sixteen hour flight she still had that delicious butterfly feeling in her stomach that she hadn’t felt in more than ten years.  She thought her heart would just burst hearing from the bartender in Barcelona that this time of year Mr. Morgan was usually in Buenos Aires.  Waiting until the evening’s nine-fifteen flight nearly killed her.    
  
Now, she snuggled into her first class lounger indulging in remembering all the things she and Jason did together.  She hadn’t allowed herself to remember for a long time.  
  
_It’s odd though, not a lot of my good memories are of Jake’s.  But at the studio, that gorgeous red glass that I almost destroyed.  He gave the simplest gifts but they always meant something._   She smiled,  _“You’re locked out” ... “give me your credit card, I watch Alias.”_  
  
The bike rides.   _Sometimes I can still feel him, the smell of leather and soap, it’s so him._   Her eyes stung, but she blinked them away.   _I was such a fool.  I made horrid demands knowing he would comply.  It’s what he did._     
  
She shook her head to clear it.    
  
_Happy thoughts! I’m going to see him, I’m going to walk into Jake’s in Buenos Aires and he’ll be there – and maybe I can find the happy again if only for a little while.  
  
I don’t want to think about all the times I could’ve gone with him, I don’t want to think about the gunshot wounds and the danger, all the times I hurt him.  I just want to think about him.  Us._  
  
Her mind spiraled back ...  
  
_“You sing when you paint” ... “I do?” ... “Yeah, and you talk to yourself.”_   She still had to giggle about that even all these years later.  
  
_There should be a Jake’s in Uzbekistan that gives out umbrellas._   She smiled.   _I wonder if he remembers making all those chains.  I should have told him I loved him then._   She remembered the globe he sent her to get for Michael.   _I never thought I’d be globetrotting visiting bars called ‘Jake’s’._  
  
She looked out her seat window.   _Endless black.  I’d give anything to see the stars._  
  
Closing her eyes she could feel the coolness of the window on her cheek.   _“Don’t you just love the way the wind rushes past you.  The way it feels so cold on your skin but you feel warm ...” he was watching her, “you’ve got the bug,” he smiled that half smile he always did ... “the bug?” ...“Yeah, you like it, riding the cliff roads ...”_  
  
She felt herself drifting off and quickly pulled herself awake.   _I felt so sluggish from the delivery but woke up to the best sight.  Jason holding our son._     
  
She bit back tears, swallowing past the lump in her throat.   
  
_I saw the joy in his face as he looked at me and his son.  Giving his son to Lucky broke his heart.  I saw it.  I did nothing.  No, I tortured him for years and then made him stay away.  I was such a scared little bitch.  Always looking out for Lucky, but claiming I loved Jason._  
  
“Happy thoughts,” she whispered.  
  
_Pool lessons.  His arms around me.  Holding his beautiful hands.  Sketching him._  
  
_“I'm making a safe place for us ... whenever we want to sneak away ... it's not huge, but ...” I couldn’t believe he’d made us  a special place, “It's wonderful,” I stroked his beautiful face, “you're wonderful.”_  
  
_“I think that we could have a life together,” he was so earnest._  
  
_“You are the most original gift giver ...” he stood behind  me, “put your hands like this” ... I swung clumsily, “you’ve taken out your first bad guy.”_  
  
  


**August 22, 2018, 2:50 PM  
_Jake’s_  – Buenos Aires, Argentina**

  
Pulling open the heavy door she noticed the sign,  _27 Agosto – Noche de Amantes, Bebidas Gratis!_  
  
“We don’t open for another two hours ...” he said not looking up from his paperwork.    
  
“Jason.”   
  
He stopped abruptly.   _It couldn’t be._   He looked up.    
  
He felt himself rise from his seat but he wasn’t sure how he was standing. He felt his chest constrict as he always did when he saw her.  He knew he was breathing but it didn’t feel like he was.  
  
She tilted her head as she looked at him.  It was a long time since she’d seen him.  He looked the same, thinner, leaner, but the same.  Hair, still spikey, blonder.  He dressed differently now, more sophisticated.  He was beautiful.   _No, most people wouldn’t call a mob enforcer beautiful, but he was then and he still is now.  I wonder if he’s still an Enforcer?_  
  
She could feel his loving eyes devouring her like a hungry man looking at his last meal.    
  
He couldn’t move.    
  
_I never expected to see her again.  I thought, maybe, I’d see her when I returned to Port Charles. But in the seven times I’ve gone back, I didn’t see her. I always thought, foolishly, that one day she’d come to Jake’s on the twenty-seventh when I was there. But, it didn’t happen.  
  
Now, she’s here.  Here._  
  
“Elizabeth,” he breathed her name out, finally.  “It’s been a long time,” he said it so softly she barely heard him as he stayed by his table.  
  
Finally he moved toward her, forcing a small smile, “You look well.” He asked calmly, “How are you?”   
  
His soft gravelly voice washed over her like a healing balm.   _This is what I’ve missed all these years.  Just hearing his voice made things better.  Why didn’t I know that before?  I did know.  I just didn’t want to know._  
  
She couldn’t keep the tears from welling in her eyes, “Oh, Jason,” her voice hitched, “I’ve been looking all over for you. I even went to all the ‘Jake’s’.”   
  
He tilted his head to look at the woman he’d loved for almost half his life.  He stepped towards her, “I’m right here, Elizabeth,” he opened his arms as she stepped toward him.  “I’m right here,” he soothed.  As his arms folded around her he felt her melt into his chest as she used to do so long ago.    
  
_I’m holding her,_  he sighed,  _I finally feel whole again._  
  
As he cupped her head with his hand she nestled into his chest and under his chin.  He felt her hot tears seeping through his shirt.  He placed a kiss on the top of her head so gently she wouldn’t feel it but it allowed him to drink in the scent that is uniquely Elizabeth.  
  
_I know this won’t last, holding her. I know it will only be for this little while. But I’m going to enjoy it, remember it, so I can keep it with me for the rest of my life._  
  
After a few minutes she pulled away. He already felt the dull ache return to his heart.   
  
He knew he had to let go, so he did.  
  
“Don’t,” she grabbed his hands, “don’t let go, Jason,” she looked up into his surprised eyes.  “I’ve been looking all over for you,” she searched his face, and rushed on, “I’ve been searching for the happiness I seem to have lost, the person I wanted to be, the life I wanted to have.” She sighed, “I should be happy.  I have three wonderful children, good friends, a good life, but,” she shrugged, “I don’t have the happiness I once had.”   
  
Jason swallowed deeply and gently squeezed her small hands, “Elizabeth, I never wanted you to be unhappy ...”   
  
“No,” she stopped him, “The choice was mine.  You gave me the power to decide.” She looked long into his eyes, “I know why other people were ... are allowed in your life. And I wasn’t.” She stepped closer to him, “It’s because they didn’t run.  They stayed.”   
  
She brushed the tears from her cheek, “I know it’s too late for us, but now that I’ve found you,” she took a deep shuttering breath, and rushed on before he could stop her, “I want you to know that you were the one who made me see what the point was ... it was you.” She heard him make a small gasp.  
  
Holding his gaze she pushed on, “I lost my happiness when I lost you. When I took Jake. Every time I walked away from you, or pushed you away, every time I didn’t trust you, I lost a bit of my happiness,” her voice hitched again, “because you WERE my happiness.”   
  
Looking down at their hands she said softly, “I just wanted you to know,” she sucked in a small breath, “I’m sorry I sent you into the ‘nothing’ again.  I wish I could change ...”   
  
Again, she felt his hands squeeze hers.  Feeling the tiniest drop of moisture fall from him she watched it sit on her hands.   
  
“Elizabeth,” he tenderly tilted up her face, “it’s not too late.”   
  
  


_**Fin ou ... Commencer** _

  
  
  
  
  


**_Your comments are gold! Please let me know what you thought!_ **

  
  
  
  
  


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**End Notes:**    
The title of this fic is taken from the movie ‘Casablanca’ – screenplay by Julius J. Epstein,   
Philip G. Epstein and Howard Koch.

  
  
Poem excerpt is from Wasteland by TS Eliot.  

  
  
The bar, ‘ _Harry’s_ ’ is an actual American-style bar in Paris.

  
  
TGV Train referenced is an actual train.  It is the  _Train à Â  Grande Vitesse_ ,  
meaning high-speed train that runs throughout Europe.  It is a relatively inexpensive   
and quick way to travel.

  
  
CEST is the abbreviation for Central European Summer Time and  
is how Daylight Savings Time is notated.    
  
Morocco and Argentina do not subscribe to Daylight Savings Time.  
  
  
Translations:  
FRENCH – in the order they appear:   
je comprends . . . . . . I understand  
pauvre petite . . . . . . poor little one (literal), poor thing (colloquial)  
un excentrique . . . . . an eccentric  
Bien sûr . . . . . . . . . . Of course  
et mais non  . . . . . . . and but no (literal), but no (colloquial)  
  
SPANISH:   
27 Agosto – Noche de Amantes, Bebidas Gratis! . . . . . . August 27 – Lover’s Night, Free Drinks!

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> For more of my stories visit my site... just click the banner!  
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> Copyright Disclaimer: That all characters are the property of the American Broadcasting Network The Disney Corporation is fully acknowledged. No copyright infringement intended. Character names are merely borrowed for fun. I do not own any characters, products or services depicted in this story which you may recognize. The canon characters of the series, General Hospital, are out of their series character and Section 107 of the US Copyright Clause on ‘Fair Use’ is cited. This is, in majority, a transformative work, solely enjoyed by a specific audience and no profit is realized. Original characters and/or characterizations, story concepts and plot are the property of the author publishing as CMJavaGirl. 
> 
>  


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